h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Saliva hangs in gory threads
From teeth like moorish blades
festering skin and rotting heads
With beaded, hanging braids

Cluttering that mouth most foul
It's tongue an ugly brown
Making poor old harry howl
Bringing our hero down

What will save our epic tale
From tragedy immense?
Surely Harry cannot fail
I'll leave you in suspense...

Too long I've slept, my babe has slipt
And fallen through the cracks.
It seems our ancient theme's forgot-
It's time to lash some backs.

For lo, the Toenib Layer has gone
A brighter dawn has broken,
And evil torments wait for those
Who took the Toenib token.

And soon as well the Gwubbershub
Will go his timely way
And in some special nightmare realm
Will spend an endless day.

But what of this, 'tis Grimley Moer
That calls me from my sleep
And sets me at the footnote slopes
Of epic's mountains steep.

Forget not, oh forget not now
That nonsense is our calling,
A tale half-told awaits the bold -
A prospect so enthralling
It keeps me from my restful bed
To wrestle lines appalling,
And thinking Grimley Moer's forgot
Is frankly somewhat galling.

Return ye poets, take your pens
And summon up your courage!
Re-read the tale, and do not quail
If brains seem turned to pottage.

Remember how the Dandy Lad
Set off from Grimley's shore
To find the Flergal's golden hoard
And lost the ship he went aboard
And found the Antwerp Eagle gored
And was by Grimley's sage ignored
(Whose endless sorrows all outpoured-
He was, in person, truly bored,)
And carried neither gun nor sword,
(For weapons he could not afford,
But liked his apples cleanly cored)
But was by Greenfaced maid adored
(Whose lilac hair clashed colours roared)
Who never slept unless he snored
And kept his flawless floozies floored,
And only ate what he had stored
And chewed his food till achey-jawed
And lorded it just like a lord
And kept his boat, like Grimley, mored,
Upon those foreign beaches shored,
Where magic mushrooms lewdly spored,
And eldritch lampetloofs had warred,
And febrile yaws had yearly yawed........
So ask me, need we more?

So balladeers, if ears ye have,
And wish to grimly delve,
You'll find the gist, our ancient hist-
ry starts at a hundred twelve.

Before that, chaos freely reigned
In nonsense so extreme,
It could not last, and thus we passed
To romance as our theme.

To think that two long years had passed
Since deep in Tirnanogue
Young Dandy heard the ogre's grief
But could not hack his brogue.

The Gwubbershub had cast a spell
That lay upon the land,
And lies there still with portents ill
For all our Grimley band.

But time is flexible in verse,
You'll surely understand
That from this timely nonsense tin
There's nought can't be uncanned.
So here's to sallying always forth
(No fifth was ever planned.)

The old and true, and stories new
Can co-exist here freely,
For time runs parallel, like stew
Long festered in a wheelie.

So take your pens, explore the fens
Surrounding Grimley Moer,
There's many a track in time's warped crack-
That widely opened door-
Through which what jewels may emerge,
What torrid passions pour.

Hal aims his sword and summons strength,
And as the snake looms close
He strikes ad cuts along the length
Of that serpent bellicose.

Enchanted steel now proves it's worth
Our hero's saved again!
Of loyal friends there is a dearth
But magic is his gain

Of friends a dearth? Then what on earth
Prevents us from inventing
A band of friends to aid his ends,
And equal foes resenting?
A cast of thousands waits our call
In serried ranks presenting--
But say the word and in they fall,
And lay on, unrelenting.

A battle hard, a battle sharp
A battle of great measure
Serene on high playing his harp
A god watches with pleasure

He this game has made with care
for sport and too for fun
The clash and screams and flesh so rare
The cries of those who run

The horror, blood and gore, it spreads
Mankind's gruesome harvest
Ripping man and beast to shreds
A god's mind at it's darkest.

The god in question, grimly grim
Was suffering from the gout-
Dead drunk with gods of Origin,
By mainly drinking stout.

And stout, well known for being dark
Brings on a darkling mood,
Which leaves cold pizza on the shelf
With soggy crisps for food.

Dark then the god who dreams of this
As all gods' dreams are dark,
Why else would carrot diced with chips
Besplatter a midnight park?
There's many a mighty mind gone mad
There's many a prematurely ageing lad
There's many a maiden mourning sad
Attempting to divine the fad
And fathom the godly lark.

For gods are older far than men
And so, uniquely bored,
Long weary of Elysian chat
Creating and destroying, that
No longer entertains, and fat
Enfolds their once adored.

They see their goddess wives grown old
As kalpas pass them by,
An eon gone in half a yawn-
And men still wonder why
The gods have treated them with scorn
And fart beyond the sky.

A weary god, a sorry sod
Is he who views this battle.
He strokes his cod and gives a prod
(Fed up with wifey's tattle,)
And stirs the warriors with his rod,
It's good to hear them rattle.

Who speaks of gods must speak of bods
Of whom he has no knowledge;
Their ways are dark as bat or lark
Well hidden in the fol'age;
It's some affair to call a chair
"Theology" in college.

Yet folks have done since time begun
Such pulling exercise;
The stuff they pull is thickest wool
Down over others' eyes.

By now we know, or should do so,
Such twaddle we should smother;
This is the only world we know--
And if there *were* another
We'd never chance to steal a glance
At what he's at, Big Brother.

Over the hill a maiden came.
Merrily dancing along.
She stopped aghast at the battle scene,
Stared at the carnage, a sight obscene,
Wept for the dead who might have been
Singers of love's sweet song.
Then danced back home again.

Our hero hal he spotted maid
As she left said hillock
He gamely mustered strength and said
Blow me or I'm a pillock

If that wasnt her, my maiden fair
Then I'm a king's born son
I'll bring her back here by her hair
Before tomorrow's begun

Now Hal was not in good repair
And when he caught the maiden fair
He found that she had martial skill
And set upon him with such good will
That soon he fled back over the hill
With but a single strand of her hair.

Off he went to a sorceress' lair
To find a way to woo
Using the lock of battle-maid's hair
And a drop of his blood too

The sorcerer sorced with a magical flair
Mixed Prince Hal's blood with the maiden's hair
Waved his wand with great glee
Clicked his heels, one two three
Told the prince that now he
Was on a really sure thing there.

Would this be the shortest 'longest nonsense ballad ever.'??

The prince rode off with rapier ready,
Intent on making the fair maid his steady.
But confronting the maid with his crude opportuning
he received for his pains, his awkward buffooning,
A knee to his jewellery (pertaining to family).

Enraged at the sorcerer, who had treated him scammily
He charged off on his charger to chastise the chanter;
Strode into the lair of the fumble spelled ranter.
Without breaking his stride the prince punctured the poor sod
In several soft spots, including the piece-cod.
Satisfied then, his blood lust quite sated,
The prince rode away, elsewhere to get mated.

( but was the sorcerer really dead??)

But was the ballad really dead,
That scribble so spectacular?
Again it rears its ugly head
Like Frankenstein or Dracula.

However it may stagger on,
This dislocated journal,
It never will be finished;
We are doomed to life eternal.

On and on it traverses
Beginning is just the end
I think I and me then we
To hate the flowering bee

To sit on standing branch
To hover on morning mist
She spoke of melt of morn
He spaketh of green porn

Yon robin sitting on a branch
One eye upon the floor
While one is closed in sweet repose
The other on the door

Which opens wide, then steps inside
The stirrer of the gruel
Who adds some salt, a pinch of malt
No wait.. that’s bread you foo-el

Still, needn’t fret, we’ll soon forget
The problems with the cooking
And know not what goes in the pot
When no-one else is looking

So anyway, tis as I say
We’re back there with the robin
Is that the sound of the Grimley Hound
Or balladeers a sobbing?

Well either way a quiet day
And Grimley set me grinning
Before too long the page is long
And we’re back at beginning

Avert thine eyes I ‘pologise
That verse was rather crusty
Repeating rhyme within one line
My rhyming pen is rusty

Whate'er the cost, let ink be tossed,
Though nibs be crossed and bockety,
We'll sit impaled to be regaled:
Advance the tale, O Snockerty.